The other Rico's breathing is measured. Steady and calm, constant even as he draws away. Grounded in physicality and practicalities, even if this physicality is failing him.

And after a long, thoughtful pause, he speaks up.

"Nah," he says, finally. As far as deaths go, this wouldn't be the worst one he's seen. Why would he look away? He reaches out besides him, and Other Rico links arms with Rico. The contact helps. He's never shied away from what he's done, or what was unpleasant to watch. "I'll watch. Always felt like people deserved that much, huh?"

Rico as a being is inherently unstable, but he has an unshakable core of determination. He has his doubts and his fears, oscillations between violent emotions, but at the center of it all is a confidence that establishes his presence as a fact of the universe. It's markedly more difficult than stealing or dumping emotions straight into somebody, and the effort causes another trickle of blood from his nose to break out, but he cracks open just the tiniest sliver of his defences so that Reggatta and Zenyatta could take from it if they wanted to. He can already feel the resolve to finish it, but it wouldn't hurt either.

And, well. He's seen too many people turn into meat between one blink and the next to really put much stock in souls and the Iris, but it's a nice thought isn't it? Rico's grip tightens on the other Rico as he reaches out and prods Zenyatta's chest with a finger, but not unkindly. "Take care of him. Do it fast and do it well. He's you. You got that?"

He means it. You have to take care of the younger one. No matter what form that takes.